Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to NEW ERA WRESTLING

Click Here To Get Started!


NEW World Heavyweight Champion: Romeo Stylez
NEW North American Champion: Frederick Grayson
NEW Television Champion: Nightmare
NEW Tag Team Champions: Evans & Murdoch

Abstract NEW Fact
After 219 shows and 1184 matches featuring 326 different superstars, NEWera has shut its doors. Thank you all.

View Our Updated Fact Sheet!




Upcoming NEW Cards
--

Last Show Results
Vindication V

Promo of the Moment
"Hot Pastrami" by Outkast

Quote of the Moment
“This meant something.” - Marc Martin

Welcome to NEWera Wrestling. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Through Pain, Determination Burns Bright; w/Priest vs. Stall/Disturbed (01/27/13)
Topic Started: Jan 27 2013, 03:46 PM (62 Views)
Eric Donavan
Member Avatar
Irish Dragon
[ * ]
"It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom." – William Dean Howells




FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013, 4:17PM
HOTEL LUCIA
PORTLAND, OREGON





The gallery suite at the Hotel Lucia is the picture of luxury, boasting a separate living room and a dining area adorned with Italian leather chairs. Tasteful artwork and plush furniture with a mixture of warm and cold coloring bespeak comfort. It leads to the hypothetical question of how someone could inhabit such a place and not be at least partially content. And then we see someone pacing back and forth before the aforementioned chocolate cherry-stained table and chairs, hands dug deep into his trouser pockets. His bent-forward posture denotes deep thought while the set of his shoulders, their rigidity screams agitation of the worst kind: the quiet kind. The long-fused, nuclear-level kind…the kind that ends with someone getting hurt.

Barely a day removed from delivering a message to 99 other participants in the biggest battle royal in wrestling history, Eric Donavan is on the other side of the country. Same impeccable appearance, same pressed and tailored Armani suit and same intensity…but with an entirely different tone. On the cobalt blue sofa, Aurelei Donavan sits with her right leg crossed over the left, denim tight around her muscular stems as her crystalline blue eyes watch her husband pace back and forth. She tips up the water bottle in her hand and takes a long sip, never taking her eyes off the Irish Dragon. It’s as if she knows he’s going to explode sooner rather than later. Next to her but effectively on the far side of the couch is Trenton Page, Eric’s protégé. He’s wearing a purple EFA hoodie with the hood back, his black hair further darkened by perspiration indicating a recent workout. He, too, watches Eric…but with more concern.

Finally, the Irish Dragon stops his pacing, looking an inch shorter now thanks to the rut he’s walked into the floor. He brings his hands to his face and rubs it vigorously, fingertips rubbing into his eyes as he finally breaks his silence.


Eric Donavan
“What…the hell…is he thinking?”

He’s talking more to himself than to the other two present. Trenton looks confused and turns to Aurelei who responds without looking at the youth.

Aurelei Donavan
“His brother. Snake.”

Trenton’s eyes widen slightly for a moment before he turns back to Eric who’s still talking to himself as he paces back and forth.

Eric Donavan
“He knows better than this…what the hell is he up to?!”

The agitation is getting more potent as Trenton, his attention still on Aurelei, comments further.

Trenton Page
“Seems like a messed-up situation to me. Why doesn’t he just call the guy?”

Aurelei Donavan
“If Snake doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found. Whatever he’s planning on doing, he’s making sure that no one interferes with it. And Eric’s not taking that well as you can see. Shockingly enough, going out drinking with White Noise did him some good. He forgot his problems and had some fun. Even if I did have to take the hose to my truck to clean up the vomit, I’m glad he had a good time.”

Trenton can’t help the burst of laughter that comes out of him at hearing that part of the tale. He covers his mouth with both hands in shock and a weak attempt to stymie the mirth but when he turns Aura’s way she gives him a reassuring if small smile. Once Trenton regains his composure, he turns back to Eric.

Trenton Page
“Having to fly across the world soon as NEW TV is over ain’t gonna help considering.”

Aurelei’s expression darkens considerably as she finally turns to Trenton. He blanches and retreats further along the couch a bit when she stares at him but she doesn’t go on the assault. She just sighs and nods.

Aurelei Donavan
“No…no, it isn’t. There’s still part of me that wants to take him to task for the hell he’s putting himself through but if I do, that will just make it worse. He needs my presence and encouragement. And yours.”

The young rookie doesn’t look convinced of that last comment until he dares to meet Aura’s eyes again and sees the seriousness etched there. He nods silently and turns back to Eric who’s staring at the artwork on the wall with his arms folded.

Trenton Page
“I’m worried about where his head is at. Not just with his brother and the matches, though. He’s…taken a lot of hard shots lately.”

Aurelei Donavan
“He’s been to the doctor since the last NEW TV show. They want me to keep an eye on him in case there are any aftereffects from the concussions.”

Trenton has the good grace to look worried even though he wants to try and be strong. Eric’s words are now little more than mumblings, still to himself, which has Aurelei sitting forward in concern.

Aurelei Donavan
“What…is he saying?”

Getting to her feet, Aurelei walks over to where Eric stands and sets a hand gingerly on his shoulder. He whirls around in shock, blinking for a moment before his eyes focus and he realizes who he’s looking at. Aurelei retracts her hand quickly when it’s thrown off and stares deep into the inky black pools, looking for some semblance of sanity there.

Aurelei Donavan
“…Eric?”

Eric Donavan
“Oh…Aurelei? When did you get back?”

Aurelei Donavan
“When did I…?”

Trenton is clearly seen mouthing something that resembles ‘oh, shit’ as Aura brushes past Eric in a hurry, leaving him briefly confused. She comes back in with a small orange bottle with a white cap and twists the latter off, shaking a single white pill into her hand and pressing it into Eric’s palm. Snatching a bottle of water from the table, she hands that to him as well.

Aurelei Donavan
“Take that. Then you need to take a shower and get your shit together so we can get to the arena on time for NEW Friday Night. Now.”

The tone is half concerned wife, half motherly badgering. Eric looks at Aurelei and then the pill before nodding and taking it with a few long sips from the bottle. He whispers a word of thanks and leans in to kiss his wife’s cheek as he moves past. He claps Trenton on the shoulder as he passes and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Aurelei, now leaned over the dining table with her palms pressed flat upon it, is almost stock still save for the slight tremor in her shoulders. Trenton rises and makes as if to try and say something consoling to Aura but as he takes one step her way she shakes her head. The black-haired rookie stops in his tracks.

Aurelei Donavan
“I’m fine. Just do me a favor and call Hiashi, let him know what’s going on.”

Trenton Page
“Yes, ma’am.”

Aura turns and offers Page a weak smile before walking into the bedroom, the camera following long enough to catch a glimpse of a sleeping Liam on the bed before the door is closed. Trenton takes out his cell phone and dials the number of his and Eric’s venerable sensei as we cut to black.




SEVERAL HOURS LATER…




NEW Friday Night ended a little over and hour ago and we’re back to Eric’s rented suite at the Hotel Lucia. Trenton is nowhere in sight, most likely having remanded himself to his own room. Aurelei is also conspicuous by her absence in what we can see of the darkened living room area, having retired for the evening. In the pale glow of the muted television we see Eric himself sleeping on the sofa, his head perched on a single pillow with his right arm over it. His sleep seems to be a restless one the way his head turns moment to moment, his lips moving as though he were speaking with no sound emitting. On his chest, sleeping soundly despite the unsettled form below him, is little Liam, his face turned toward the back of the couch as he’s draped comfortably upon his father’s broad chest.

”I don’t want to have to break this to him…”

”You had the chance to do so more gently before. You have only yourself to blame.”

Two familiar voices speak in whisper-like tone as the view shifts and we see Serge sitting in the armchair around the corner from the sofa. Behind him stands the as-of-yet-unnamed young woman. Serge is in the same black suit he’d worn the last time he appeared while the lady has doffed the black dress and is wearing a white shift, a daisy tucked neatly behind her right ear. She sets her hand upon Serge’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze but the man looks no less anguished thanks to the gesture.

”His dreams are already ill. Do we wake him or wait?”

The young lady walks over to the couch though with her grace and the way the shift moves with her body it seems more like she’s floating. She puts her hand over but not upon Eric’s brow and closes her eyes for a moment. Her lower lip is drawn into her teeth and she takes her hand away, sighing.

”I want to wake him, but…he needs to see this.”

”See what?”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she takes Liam from Eric’s chest and walks into the other room, managing not to wake the child. Serge sits back in the chair and watches the man who took his life many years ago, impassive and silent. The room starts to take on a different appearance, first fading to black and white then degenerating into a sort of…pencil-drawn look. Everything looks sketched including the people present. For some reason, that is the catalyst to awaken Eric who sits up on the sofa in confusion, looking down at his hands and finally realizing the change…and perhaps what it means. It’s no less of a shock for us, though, as the view changes to first-person; we see things now through the eyes of the dragon.

”What…is…?”

We look up but see only a highway running along the edge of a cliff, empty save for two cars, two men. One stands over the other like an Angel of Death, wielding a heavy crowbar and the fury of loss. Our approach is tentative at first, but soon picks up pace as the thick metal bar comes down again…and again…

”This…why does it…was I…wrong?”

Motions forward are like short jumps, motions stuttering and trembling oddly like a lagging MMO.

”It’s too late to wonder why.”

”It cannot be undone.”

Yet still we…HE…tries. Arms reach out to grab the crowbar before it can come down again, causing the younger Eric to whip around and face us. Hate-filled eyes exacerbated by freely flowing tears, his expression blank as though he’s not in charge of his own body. He snarls like a beast, wrestling the weapon away from us and smashing it against the side of our head, sending us to the ground. The view is shaky, even more blurry than before. Our hand reaches out as the barely-conscious form of Serge is thrown back in his car and summarily rammed over the side of the cliff.

”It…it hurts…pain I can’t touch…broken free from…what…what did I…?”

”It’s beginning…”

Our view turns upward, seeing the forms of the black-suited Serge and the nameless woman in white. The former offers a hand and we take it…pulled to our feet as the scene warps around us, becomes the area beneath the bleachers of a football field at some nameless California high school. Serge and the woman have vanished, the latter’s voice lingering…

”From one end to the other. You have to encompass it all to understand.”

”I remember…this…long ago…simpler times…better…times.”

Several are with us now…a woman who looks a lot like Aurelei Donavan but with more acute beauty…a muscular teen with a dangerous look in his bright green eyes…a few other non-descript males who follow in our wake. And presently we come upon a couple deep beneath the bleachers apparently attempting a little between-class coitus. The muscular teen steps in and yanks the male away by the scruff of the neck, throwing him against one of the supports while we help the confused and afraid-looking girl on the ground to her feet. A second glance shows her as Aurelei herself, many years younger and without the danger in her crystalline blue eyes. She looks at us…almost reverently, the first blossoms of love starting to form.

”Better…simpler…easier…I understood things…I…didn’t doubt…didn’t…hurt.”

”Times like those can’t last forever.”

We turn in time to see the unnamed teen take a fist to the jaw from our muscular companion, the blanks filled in by this point, revealing him as an equally-younger Snake. The unnamed teen pulls a switchblade out of his back pocket, the blade clicking open as he lunges forward in desperation. We move before we think, moving in the way of the thrust as the blade enters our abdomen above the waist. Now it’s our hands…knocking the knife away, throwing the teen to the ground and battering him furiously. That is, until the younger Snake pulls us away with the help of our other two friends while the older woman keeps younger Aurelei away from the carnage. Seeing them together hammers home her identity as the one-time Phoenix’s late sister, Monica.

”Bastard…deserved worse…deserved destruction…trying to take from my kin…the only family I had…”

”Who are you to judge?”

Five words, simple and to the point. We turn around to see Serge and the woman in white behind us, all others in the moment dissipating as the scenery goes to black. Only our bloodstained hands, held up before our face, are visible aside from the ghostly pair. Hands that tremble and shake with rage, uncertainty and a cocktail of other emotions that seldom work well when mixed together.

”Who am I…to judge? Who…am I…”

”It has begun. We need to hurry this along.”

”Serge, you don’t know what kind of effect that will have on him!”

The woman’s voice turns almost frantic, fearful. Whether because of what Serge is suggesting or out of fear for Eric himself…it’s hard to tell. Serge, undaunted, turns his eyes her way.

”And what exactly would you have me do? If you have a better option, I’m all ears.”

She looks miffed at the agitation in his voice but keeps her attention on us…on Eric.

”In his condition…”

”Now, or never. The end is coming and without perspective he won’t survive it. He’ll repeat the cycle and next time he’ll lose everything. Put aside your feelings for a damn minute and think about this logically!”

She has no response, turning away from the moment as Serge holds out his hand to us, to Eric.

”Where…what…?”

”Come forward.”

One of the visible hands takes the offered one of Serge, and upon contact the world starts to warp. Images of a massive man on a Harley with a blond girl holding on to him with a wicked smile playing at her lips…of an abandoned building where ill-looking people wait within…cars speeding down the highway, already too late…blood…the sound of hard objects battering flesh and bone…screams and roars of anguish…

…and a final impact that sends us reeling from Serge, back through the darkness until we briefly see the ceiling of the hotel room above us. Eric falls back into himself on the sofa, waking with a start that nearly takes him off the couch and onto the carpeted floor. He sits up suddenly but his head is utterly throbbing, his hands going to it as a few tears leak out unbidden from between squeezed-shut lids. The groans and hissing forced out by the pain coupled with the shakes that follow make it a chore for Eric to sit up. When he looks forward, he sees the woman in white standing behind the chair on which Serge sits. Then it dawns on him that Liam isn’t nearby and he stands up, almost falling back over from the rush of blood through his body.


”Easy, dear. He’s with his mother in the other room. She…came and got him not long ago.”

Once he can see clearly, Eric looks between the two and, too blasted with pain to question it, nods.

”We just came to…apologize.”

Eric Donavan
“…apologize? Damn it…my head’s going to fucking crack in two…”

The woman watches him with concerned eyes, her white attire seeming to glow in the near-darkness of early morning. Serge meanwhile seems half-visible thanks to the black of his suit.

”You need another pill. Take one after we go.”

Eric nods weakly, his eyes a little unfocused.

Eric Donavan
“Apologize, you said?”

”Yes. Apologize. For what is to happen very soon, for how much it will hurt…and for delivering the truth of the matter: that your actions set it in motion. That the fault is yours.”

”It isn’t that we want you to hurt more, saying such things, but you need to hear the truth. This is your second chance, Eric. Don’t follow the same path you did the first time.”

Wincing, Eric looks between them, confused. Confusion that angers him but which he cannot express thanks to the pain.

”It either ends here or it gets worse because you act impetuously. Think, for once. Consider the consequences. Don’t be a fool.”

”Learn from your mistakes, dear. It’s the only way you’ll ever feel true contentment. Now…”

She takes Serge’s hand as he rises and they step back into the shadows at the far end of the room.

”We have to go. And you have a message to deliver. We’ll see you again after the worst has happened…with hope.”

Eric Donavan
“The…worst? Hey, wait!”

The two fade out of sight as Eric lurches to his feet. He pauses, his hand going to his head again…then his eyes roll back and he falls back onto the couch.




SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 2013, 5:11AM
HOTEL LUCIA
PORTLAND, OREGON





The room is still dark save for the pale glow emitting from a laptop screen and a few candles lit on the coffee and end tables. Eric is sitting back on the sofa in a pair of jeans and nothing more, the aforementioned computer sitting on a fan-loaded cushion lap desk. On the end table is the same pill bottle from before and a fresh bottle of water. The Irish Dragon has on a Turtle Beach DP11 Wireless Headset, his eyes darting back and forth over the screen’s contents as the headphones pump sound through impressively. Enough to let him block out the world.

That isn’t his intention, though. He takes off the headphones and for a moment we can hear the unmistakable voice of James Stall speaking through them before a sweep of Eric’s finger on the touchpad and the click of a button shuts that off. The Irish Dragon closes the laptop, putting it and the portable desk aside, setting the headset atop them. He leans forward slightly, head lowered and a pill now in hand. He pops it and takes a few swigs of water before putting the now-emptied vessel aside before lifting his nearly-black eyes to us.


Eric Donavan
“I’m going to make this as simple as fucking possible for you, James Stall, and you, Disturbed, because I don’t have the patience to get wordy with you assholes. Not this time.”

Eric’s words are practically snarled out. He’s in obvious pain and even in the comfortable temperature of the room his torso and arms glisten with perspiration, his body trembling slightly.

Eric Donavan
“My head feels like it’s going to explode. Romeo’s BeDazzler, multiple Graveyard Shifts and Eulogies from Tombstone, multiple-person beatings from Project Revolution and the Untouchables…and you, Stall. Smashing me with a bottle and driving me damn near THROUGH the ring with a Sergeant Spinebuster. Doctors are telling me to take a few months off, Stall. They’re telling me that I’m risking permanent damage by continuing to fight through this. And way down deep in a part of my mind that I try to ignore, I’m actually considering it. Bravo to you for reminding the dragon that he’s human.”

He gets a few notes of laughter out before the effort makes his head hurt again and he hisses to a stop, growling low as dark chocolate hair falls before him, masking his features.

Eric Donavan
“The problem, Stall, is that you can’t seal the deal. Forget the way we’ve attacked each other and all the wins and losses in between. You’re the champion and I’m the number-one contender. You have what I want, occupy the space I covet. You know I’m coming and the sadism has begun in earnest.”

Eric taps his left temple knowingly.

Eric Donavan
“So you hire some goons to beat me down. You sneak in like a thief and take your shots where you can get them. Oh, don’t look at me that way. You know it’s fucking true. Head-on, I’ve loosened your jaw and burned your flesh on three separate occasions. And lest we forget, I’ve beaten you. Excuses don’t change L’s to W’s, champ…but you’ll still make them to try and obfuscate your failure. But let’s get back to the point, shall we? That being that you can’t finish what you start.”

His hands going to his face, Eric leans up and pushes the long strands behind his ears, leaning back on the sofa a bit more comfortably.

Eric Donavan
“Look at me, Stall. Do I look like I’m ready to lie down and die yet? Do you think that I’m going to all of a sudden back out of our title match because I’m afraid you’ll damage me further? As long as there’s breath in me, I’m going to fight…and as long as blood still pumps through my body and my brain still functions, your title is NOT, nor will it ever BE…safe. There’s NOTHING you can do to change that, Stall, short of being a MAN and finishing what you START!

The Irish Dragon’s voice drops to a whisper, almost too low for us to hear.

Eric Donavan
“You’ll have to damn near kill me to stop me. And I don’t think you have the fucking guts.”

Carefully, one hand on the cushion, one on the armrest, Eric pushes himself up from the sofa and moves unsteadily into the suite’s wet bar. By the time he gets there he’s moving a little better, searching through the bottles available until he comes across a bottle of orange juice. He twists off the cap and takes a few grateful sips before exhaling. Leaning on the counter with one hand, he laughs dryly, just a note or two, and mutters a name.

Eric Donavan
“Disturbed…”

Low notes of mirth become a little more potent but controlled in volume due to the splitting concussion-induced headache and Eric’s wife and son sleeping in the next room.

Eric Donavan
“You great, shaven gorilla…I don’t even know why I’m bothering to waste oxygen on you other than the fact that you’ve weaseled your way into this match because of your grudge against Priest.”

Like turning off a light, the humor dissipates and Eric turns to stare at us through that curtain of dark, slightly-wet hair. His eyes seem to glitter beneath the soft curtain.

Eric Donavan
“I’m bored of kicking your ass, Disturbed. Bored of your constant bitching and moaning and your lack of desire to look in the mirror and see that you’re the reason for your own ills. You’re a fucking addict bitching about the after-effects of your drug of choice while you’re lining up another dose. You make me sick. You’re nothing but a coward who refuses to face reality. And tonight you’re going to be a victim on top of that.”

Standing up straight again, a deep breath taken, Eric exhales and walks back over to the couch…but doesn’t sit.

Eric Donavan
“Your size and power aren’t going to be enough, another lesson you haven’t learned yet. But it’s not me you have to worry about. Far as I’m concerned, I’m just going to hit you hard enough to slow you down so Priest can have the pleasure of taking you out personally. You’re not my concern. You’re below me as I’ve proved time and again. As long as my friend gets his pound of flesh from you, I’ve done my part. I’m far more concerned with our dear champion.”

The solitary candle in its brass holding is clutched by Eric, who brings the flame up close. It reflects in his dark eyes as he stares at it, watching it dance with a hypnotized expression. Then another slow smile forms, sadistic and cold.

Eric Donavan
“Hurt me, break me and bleed me dry, but the fire will still burn. The man hasn’t been born nor the monster created who can stop me, Stall. Come this evening, I’m going to give you a severe case of dracophobia and laugh as it burns you malignantly from within. By the time Evolution rolls around you’re going to be begging for it to stop. And the price you pay to be free will be the gold around your waist. Forget the respect I have for your ascent and your championship reign. There is nothing for us but suffering and glory now.

You will pay the price for your sins with blood and fire and I will collect what I dearly covet in your World Heavyweight Championship. Tonight, the prelude. At Evolution, the changing of destiny.”

The Irish Dragon glares at the screen over the single, flickering flame.

Eric Donavan
Everything burns.

One exhale to extinguish the flame and bring the promo to a dark close.
Posted Image

Eric Donavan's Wikia Page
Twitter: @NEWIrishDragon

NEW Record: 28-11-2
All-Time Record: 73-24-6

1x NEWEra World Heavyweight Champion: 11/03/13-12/15/13
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Create a free forum in seconds.
Learn More · Register for Free
« Previous Topic · NEWtv Promo Board · Next Topic »
Add Reply